


all i want (is to be your harbor)

by leigh57



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wants her next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i want (is to be your harbor)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a tiny vignette that jumped into my brain today while I was trying to distract myself. (I just have too many feels, help.) The title is taken from Vienna Teng's beautiful, "Harbor."

His skin hasn’t stopped touching her skin for hours – whispers and kisses, soft breathing and tears – but even though the visible tremor in his hands has quieted, he still feels as if everything inside him is shaking.

She’s right here, warm and sweaty and sleepy in his arms, and he’s still so goddamn scared.

She’s quiet, fingers smoothing absently over the curve of his shoulder, but it’s the good kind of silent. Peaceful.

She hasn’t said a word about what happened.

(Maggie told him. The screaming. The butchering. The blood. Carol at the armory.)

He hates himself for not being there. He hates the terror that’s electrocuting his insides. He hates this fucking world where he can’t even slow his heart down enough to appreciate the way her hair tickles his chest or how soft the skin at the small of her back feels beneath his fingertips.

He’s so lost in thought that she’s halfway out from under his arm before he realizes she’s moving. “What’s wrong?” he asks, squinting against the exhaustion that makes his eyelids feel like sandpaper.

“Nothing. I’m just getting my shirt.” She leans over, and he watches the outline of her back in the sliver of moonlight that sneaks in between the blinds.

“Could ya leave it off tonight?” The words tumble out way ahead of any acknowledged permission from his brain. Her body goes still, shirt clutched in her left hand. He feels heat cascading up his neck and into his face. He wants to say something else, to tell her why, to explain that it’s not about keeping her naked, to make her understand the helpless fear that’s battering him, the relentless fear he can’t manage to control.

He just wants her next to him.

Her skin on his skin.

Nothing in between.

It’s hard to force words, but he already feels like a dick for asking, so he manages, “’M'sorry. Forget it. I don’t know what-”

“It’s okay.” She drops the shirt on the floor and slides back under the sheet, her fingers landing right on top of his heart. She fits herself up against his body until it would be pretty much impossible for more of her to be touching more of him. And then she kisses the edge of his jaw and says, voice so quiet that the words are barely a vibration in the silence of the room, “I’m scared, too.”

He shuts his eyes against the threat of tears and tightens his arms around her, hoping she’ll say something if he’s making it hard for her to breathe.

His broken, “Thank you” is almost inaudible.

But he knows she hears.


End file.
